


Coffee Time

by KageKashu



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-23 21:26:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KageKashu/pseuds/KageKashu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Clint doesn't drink coffee, mostly, but he still enjoys it in his own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Closet

**Author's Note:**

> This is a silly little thing. Silly. Possibly pointless, but it amused me to write, so here you go. :)

As he watched Coulson go about his daily routine, Clint wondered if Coulson would like some coffee. He was pretty sure it was getting close to the time the agent would normally go and get his own coffee, so Clint decided to go and make it for him. But first, he would need to extract himself from his current perch. 

The Avengers mansion wasn't full of good, well hidden perches either, so he needed to keep the few he had from being noticed. Sometimes, when Stark noticed that he spent a lot of time in certain places, those places would lose their ability to hide him, usually because of some sort of recording device. Destroying the security cameras would only give him away, so he had to make do with finding new places, such as where he was now. 

Technically, Clint wasn't actually sitting on anything, but was wedged between a pair of wall supports hidden by an unusually tall houseplant. Coulson was in a couch, on the other side of said houseplant, possibly watching Super Nanny, or something similarly horrendous. He wouldn't assume that the agent hadn't seen him, partly because he never seemed to be able to sneak up on the man. If Coulson had spotted him, however, he gave no indication. 

Slithering down the wall without a sound turned out to be difficult, but Coulson didn't even look up from the television, so Clint assumed that he was beneath notice for now. Someday, not today, Clint figured he'd try to make it all the way to the kitchen without touching the floor. This time, Clint made do walking to the kitchen like a normal man. 

For some reason, Clint loved to make coffee. The beans, freshly processed through the grinder, gave off a wonderful aroma, but his favorite part came before he even ground them. When he entered the pantry, which was probably bigger than some rooms that he'd utilized in the past as quarters, he immediately went to the specially marked containers that held everyone's personal favorite blends. 

First, there was Steve's, in Captain America's colors. Clint wasn't sure what had been done to those beans, but he was aware that if anyone but Thor were to drink Steve's coffee (double brewed, most days, unless the man just didn't have the time for it) they would begin to suffer stomach pains followed by mild to severe arrhythmia of the heart, depending on how much they managed to ingest. Clint had tasted it once; thankfully he had barely sipped it. He had still needed to be medicated afterwards. For some reason the beans always smelled so damned good though. 

Then there was Natasha's coffee beans, which were some obscure blend that could probably only be coerced out of a fair trade company if you were Tony Stark. Her beans came with instructions that, should one fail to follow properly, would end up with a man being beaten to death with one of his own arms. Clint often spent several minutes just smelling them, sorting out the complexity of the blend with his eyes closed, a look of bliss on his face. 

The third bin that Clint always got into belonged to the man himself; that is, the third bin was Stark's own personal blend. They smelled absolutely heavenly, but you wouldn't know that by the way they were brewed. Tony made coffee like he was raised as a military brat in the thirties. He made it too thick, and for some reason unfathomable to Clint, there were always grounds in it. The only one who willingly drank Tony's coffee other than Tony was Director Fury of all people (who would always slip hopefully into the kitchen whenever he came to the mansion in person, seeking Tony-coffee - needless to say, Tony did not know this). 

As has been happening too often lately, the pantry door opened before Clint was done with his coffee bean alone time. "Oh for the love of...Do you need a little more time alone with your... paramour?" 

"Yes," Clint replied brashly, cuddling the bin as he deeply inhaled the aroma wafting up from it. 

"Hey, that's my coffee," protested the interloper. 

Clint gave Tony dirty side-eye. "Your coffee's a dirty whore," he replied, not even moving to replace the bin on the shelf. Tony's coffee wasn't appreciated enough. Clint thought that it might even be affection starved. He scowled as Tony took the bin from his hands and put the lid back on. "You don't treat it well enough." 

"Barton," Tony sighed, mildly exasperated, "you have your own coffee." 

The other man waved a hand at the purple container, which contained something like Maxwell House for the obscenely rich. Clint could admit that he loved his own personal stash just as much as he loved that of the others, but there was more to it than that. "I don't drink coffee," he protested. "I just like the way it smells. Besides, I was getting ready to make a pot." 

Tony's lips pursed minutely, his brow furrowing. "I don't think I'm ever going to understand you." 

Clint just shrugged and grabbed the purple bin, noting how light it felt. "I'm going to need more, soon." 

Fifteen minutes later, a perfectly brewed cup of coffee appeared at Coulson's elbow, just as the man was thinking about getting up and finding out if whatever was in the kitchen was drinkable. Coulson knew who had made it, and was mildly surprised at its sudden appearance. He wasn't about to ask Barton what he was thinking, however, instead preferring to sit back and watch television with an absolutely wonderful coffee and be glad that nothing interesting had decided to crop up today. 

FIN 


	2. Coffee Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Darcy watches the morning progression through the kitchen on a slow day.

Darcy sat at the kitchen table, watching the blond man - not Captain America, he had to be Hawkeye, though the two of them had never been formally introduced - nearly falling asleep over his cup of coffee. He stood near the pot, swaying slightly, and had been standing there for at least fifteen minutes now, and hadn't yet taken a single sip. _'Poor guy must have a hangover,'_ she mused. That, or he was so tired that he couldn't rouse himself enough to drink his coffee. 

Just as she turned back to her computer, a cup was thrust under her nose. "Do you drink coffee?" asked Hawkeye ( _'His name is Clint,'_ she told herself). "I can't take him a cold cup, so you have it. Here, I've gotta go." Without waiting for her to reply, though she was still blinking over the sudden coffee, he hurried back to the pot and poured the last of it into another cup. "Enjoy," he said, somewhat ironically, Darcy thought, considering that he had just given her a cold cup. 

Heated, with cream and sugar added, the coffee was pretty good. 

Shortly afterward, the other blond worked his way in, and Darcy silently observed his gluteal muscles from her position at the table. Working under Coulson had its benefits; that was for sure. Steve Rogers, aka Captain America, stood patiently in front of the coffee maker as it brewed, only to run the dark liquid through the machine a second time when it was done. Darcy was pretty sure that wasn't good for the machine, but whatever, it wasn't her problem. 

He gave her a silent smile and a nod on his way out, having halfway drained the cup he had poured before even passing her. 

The third person she saw come in that morning was Dr. Banner, who preferred tea, it seemed. He stood near the coffee while preparing his cup, a thoughtful frown on his face, occasionally sniffing the air. Eventually he pulled the carafe and brought it close to his face, and pantomimed his own death as he set it back in place. "Ugh," he gasped, and scribbled a note to place in front of the machine. Pointing at the pot he told her, "Bad coffee. It deserves a warning label." 

He sat at the table with her as he enjoyed his morning cuppa, and hadn't yet left when Thor came in and greeted Darcy enthusiastically. The god-alien-hottie made his way to the coffee machine and tried to decipher Dr. Banner's note. "Is this... What is this?" he mumbled. "Aha!" Thor exclaimed as he poured a cup for himself. "It is the good Captain's shield! And this, the symbol for... hazardous waste, I believe. I am unsure what the third symbol embodies." He squinted at it and eventually gave up. "Ah... this is the good coffee." 

Somehow, his words worried Darcy. Dr. Banner told her, in a calm, deliberate manner, "Don't drink Steve's coffee. It's deadly. The only people I've seen... handle it, were Steve and Thor. I'm sure the Big Guy could, but no one wants to see that." 

Shortly after that, both men were gone, and Darcy took a mental note-to-self of Dr. Banner's warning: _'Captain America's coffee is evil, i.e. don't drink it.'_

The red haired woman came in next and saw the note on the counter. Making a face (it was barely a face, but it _was_ there; Darcy saw it!) she disposed of Captain America's coffee and the note marking it thus and cleaned the carafe, the machine, and the counter, before setting about making her own coffee. By the time Natasha (aka Black Widow) was done, Darcy felt like she had just witnessed something clandestine, and that if she ever spoke of what she had seen, she would be erased. 

Natasha nodded acknowledgement to Darcy on her way out. 

Next in was the man, the legend, Tony Stark. Iron-britches shuffled across the kitchen toward the machine, his eyes half glued shut. Was it from sleep? Or did he just need sleep that badly? It was nearly noon, but she wasn't all that certain that that meant anything. He twittered faintly as he poured the remainder of Natasha's coffee into the largest mug Darcy had yet seen (on that morning, anyway). He quaffed it as he made more coffee. He spilled grounds into the pot, and put far too large of a scoop into the filter. 

Tony was bad enough at this that Darcy was trying to remember where the nearest fire extinguisher was when the coffee finally filtered through the grounds. The coffee was nearly as dark as Captain America's when it dripped into the carafe. She wondered if, like Steve's, Tony's coffee was evil, and not meant for mortal stomachs. "Morning," he slurred, blearily focusing one eye on her as he refilled his cup. 

"Or something that passes for it," she responded. 

He blinked at the wall clock, saluting her with the mug once he took note of the time. "Point," he agreed, and walked out. Personally, Darcy hoped he was heading to bed, but in her general experience with people, knew that was improbable. 

After a while, during which the kitchen was pleasantly quiet, Agent Coulson came in. He barely picked up the pot before frowning at it and placing it back in the machine. "There goes that idea," he said mournfully. "Tea it is." Before fixing his tea, he cleaned up Tony's mess in that quiet and efficient manner of his. Several minutes later, he sat next to her with his cup. "It's time to review now, Miss Lewis." 

They were both working quietly when Director Fury came in (something that surprised Darcy a lot, though she tried not to show it). He made a surprised but happy sound when he discovered that the coffee was still fresh. Then he sat across from Coulson and Darcy, taking one big, satisfied draught from the top of his mug. "This is the good stuff," he said. 

"What is wrong with you, sir?" Agent Coulson asked, faintly exasperated. 

"Man makes good coffee; how does that translate to something wrong with me?" 

Behind them, Clint had come in again, and, noting the bare dregs of coffee left in the carafe, set about making a fresh pot while Fury and Coulson discussed the director's lack of taste. The man at the machine bobbed energetically, and it was more entertaining to watch him than to listen to her superiors debating coffee. Suddenly, Clint stilled, and so did the discussion, Fury and Coulson turning to find the source of Clint's distress. 

"Someone needs to clean the lines again," he muttered, shaking his head and writing another note. "Captain's coffee gums it up..." 

FIN


End file.
